by Robbi McCoy
“Do you really want to have to deal with this for the next four weeks, Harper?” he asked. “You don’t know what kids are like.”
“We can give it a try. If it gets bad, I’ll send her home. I have that luxury.”
“I hate to reward her for running away,” he said, but in the end, he gave in. Sarah was ecstatic. They sat down with a map of California and a guidebook and began planning where they might go together. Before long, though, Harper’s attention drifted back to the question of Chelsea and where she was.
As if reading Harper’s mind, Sarah suddenly said, “Oh, but what about Chelsea? Will she be coming with us? I can’t wait to meet her.”
That’s right, thought Harper, startled. Sarah thinks Chelsea and I are still together. Mary had not explained anything to her, preferring to avoid the subject altogether.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “Chelsea and I broke up two years ago.”
“Oh,wow,”she responded.“No wonder Mary was so surprised when I showed up.”
Harper nodded. “No damage done.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.”
Harper could tell by Sarah’s expression that she had given Harper and Chelsea a happy ending in her imagination. People do so want a happy ending, Harper thought, recalling something Chelsea had once said.
“So, is Mary Chelsea’s aunt or something?” Sarah asked.
“No,” Harper said. “Not a relative. They were, uh—”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, understanding. “Oh, shit, that’s even worse. Oh, God, Aunt Harper, I’m sorry. I’m such a moron.”
“Chelsea has apparently broken up with Mary now too,” Harper said.
Sarah perked up. “Really? So she’s available? You can hook up again.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really know what her situation is now.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
“I have, actually, a couple of times. No response.”
“Do you still love her?”Sarah asked, her tone almost comically sympathetic.
Harper nodded.
“Well, then, you must go to her!” Sarah said dramatically, her eyes flashing.
Sarah was suddenly no longer concerned about sightseeing, it seemed. She wanted to do something far more interesting— reunite two lovers.
Harper wished she knew if Chelsea still wanted to see her. Even if she did, Mary’s threat loomed. Her certainty of her hold on Chelsea was chilling.
“I think she must have an apartment here in town,” Harper said, “but I don’t have her address.”
“Well, she isn’t there anyway,” Sarah said nonchalantly.
“What?” Harper asked. “Why do you say that?”
“When I asked Mary if Chelsea was home, she said she was gone away on vacation. I thought she meant that she had gone away with you.”
“So that’s why you were waiting for me there? Why you thought I had come back with Chelsea?”
“Right. Anyway, I asked Mary where. Mendocino, she said.”
“Mendocino,” Harper repeated. “Her brother has a vacation home there.”
“I told Mary I was your niece and that I was looking for you because you weren’t home. She was confused. She asked me why I was asking where Chelsea was if I was looking for you. I began to think that maybe it was a secret, you know, you and Chelsea, and that I was outing you guys or something. I mean, I’m still thinking that Mary is her aunt or her landlady or even her mother. So I got freaked out. I don’t even know what I said after that, something about you and Chelsea being traveling companions or something.”
“Traveling companions!” Harper said, laughing.
“I know, it was so lame! She started asking me all these questions about you and Chelsea, and I told her I didn’t know anything, that I’d just arrived from Cape Cod. So then she said I could wait for you at her place. And you know the rest.” Sarah looked sheepish. “Anyway, now that you know where Chelsea is, you can go to her.” Harper sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. Sarah’s view was so optimistically simple. “Look, I’m going to run to the store. Give me a list of things you like, what you normally eat and drink, you know.”
Sarah stayed home downloading some of Harper’s music onto her iPod while Harper shopped. Apparently, Mary had introduced her to classical music and now she was totally into it. Her brief stay with Mary, however strangely it had come about, had actually done her quite a bit of good, mused Harper, adding three cans of water-packed tuna to the carton of yogurt and jars of organic green tea already in her cart. Consulting the list, she saw that Sarah had written “caviar” on it. She smiled. No way, kid.
She pondered what she should do, if anything, with the information that Chelsea was in Mendocino. She couldn’t believe Chelsea had gone by herself to that romantic town. The fact that she hadn’t called was probably evidence of that.
Harper’s heart was heavy as she drove back home. She wished, more than ever, that she had returned Chelsea’s call immediately. Two weeks was time enough for anything to happen—enough even to fall in love with someone else on a wind-swept ocean bluff overlooking a rugged coastline.
Oh, God, Chelsea, she thought, clutching the steering wheel in despair. Please don’t be lying in another woman’s arms because I waited to return your call.
Chapter 23
JUNE 28
Sarah had taken charge of the mouse at Harper’s computer. They were working together on the background music for the Carmen Silva film. Sarah already knew a bit about editing music files, although the style of music that populated her iPod was entirely different from the sonatas, rondos and concertos they were now trying to fit to the weaving scenes.
Harper had played the documentaries of Mary Tillotson and Catherine Gardiner for Sarah the previous day. She’d been impressed by them and had gained a new appreciation, it seemed, for both Mary’s and Harper’s talents. Having seen the videos, she finally realized too what a remarkable event she had been a part of when Mary and Catherine had let her tag along for their lunch date. She wanted to be a part of this new film, and Harper was glad to indulge her. It was turning out to be a fun day, even if they weren’t making much actual progress.
“I love that!” Sarah exclaimed, hearing Moonlight Sonata for the first time. “Can we use it?”
“Maybe,” Harper said.
“Who wrote it?”
“Beethoven.”
“All I ever knew about Beethoven was da-da-da-dum.”
Harper smiled, recognizing the first notes of the Fifth Symphony. “Some of his shorter pieces are...”
“Sublime?” Sarah asked, grinning at her own word choice.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Didn’t you use one of those in the other film, the one about Mary?”
“Yes. I put a bit of Appassionata in there. This one is Piano Sonata no. 14. It’s known as the Moonlight Sonata. Very recognizable. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing for the film. The music is there to create a mood, not detract from the subject.”
Sarah looked thoughtfully at Harper, then rewound the video and started it again. They watched the monitor as Carmen Silva worked her loom. Sarah started playing the music as they watched. “It has the right sound, don’t you think?”
“You’re right. It lends a hallowed atmosphere to the weaving process. It’s almost as if Carmen were playing the music. Her hands move like those of a harpist or pianist. But she’s moving faster than the tempo of the music. Can you hear that, how the music is so much slower than her movements?”
Sarah listened again, a serious expression on her face. “I think I get it,” she said.
“We might be able to use it in another spot, though. How about this?”
Harper fast-forwarded to a section of film taken in front of the home where all of the blankets were lined up on racks. A series of stills focused on each blanket in turn, showing its colors and patterns for a few moments and then moving to the next one. Harper started the film and the
Beethoven sonata simultaneously.
Sarah cocked her head slightly, listening, and Harper thought of Chelsea, remembering that day six years ago when she had played that gorgeous piano at Mary’s house. Chelsea’s eyes had flashed with delight at the title of the song—Appassionata—just as Sarah’s were flashing now as she listened to a brilliant piece of music that fit into the scene like a dovetail joint.
This is what Mary gets from teaching, Harper thought, the sheer delight that becomes so elusive as you get older, except second hand through the eyes, mind and heart of a young person who is receptive and unselfconscious.
“Aunt Harper, that’s so beautiful it almost makes me want to cry.”
Harper smiled, more than happy with that response.
“Are you going to use it?” Sarah asked.
“Sure. It’s perfect.”
Sarah played the piece over three times, satisfied with her contribution. “Will we be able to watch this on TV?” she asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. It will air here on a local channel. That’s it. At least for the foreseeable future. But I’ll send you a copy of the final product. You can show your family.”
“If it’s not on TV, they won’t care,” Sarah said, dejected. “They won’t get it.”
“Well, maybe they won’t. That’s how it goes with families. They love you, but they don’t always appreciate the same things you do, nor will they necessarily be able to share the things that matter to you. Do you realize, not a single member of my family has ever seen me perform with the symphony?”
Sarah grew thoughtful. “I never thought of that,” she said. “It’s important to you, isn’t it, being in the symphony?”
“Of course, but the reason they don’t attend is distance, not lack of interest. The couple of times Mom and Dad have been out to visit, the timing wasn’t right. I’d like to share that with them, you know.”
“I’d like to come.”
“Thank you. Unfortunately, you will be long gone when the season starts in the fall.”
Sarah frowned, reminded of her impending return to the Cape. “Live classical music is a really different experience from recorded,” Harper said. “And on these speakers, well, if this makes you want to cry, you’d bawl your head off if you heard it performed live.”
“Can you play it?” Sarah asked. “Moonlight Sonata?”
“Sure, I’ve played it dozens of times.”
Harper, getting the point, led the way to the living room and the piano. She played the piece while Sarah sat on the sofa listening. When it was finished, Harper turned around on the bench to face her. “What do you think?”
“Awesome!” Sarah said. “So, that file we were listening to on the computer, was that you playing?”
Harper shook her head, amused. “No. That’s a professional recording.”
“Oh. But you’ll play this for the final cut, right? The background music on the film, it will be you playing?”
Harper hesitated, taken by surprise at this assumption. “It never occurred to me,” she said finally.
“No kidding? Why not?”
Harper slowly shook her head, wondering herself why the idea had never entered her mind.
“Grandpa always says what a magical pianist you are.”
“He does?”
“Sure! Why do you think he always asks you to play when you’re there? Grandma can play the piano, he says, but Harper can make it soar.”
Harper felt herself getting emotional. It was true. Her father was always complimentary when she played the piano, but that had been the case since she was young. She had assumed that he was just being encouraging and supportive since she had obviously not been an accomplished pianist at seven or even at twelve. Her piano teachers would be happy to testify to that! But she had gotten better over the years and more serious. Maybe her father’s praise had changed somewhere along the way from being merely encouraging to being genuinely admiring. Sarah’s question was valid. Harper had no problem using her voice or her camera skills on her videos, so why didn’t she use her music? She had always sought out just the right recording for her films, listening to as many as a dozen versions of the same piece before choosing one for its tone or tempo. She wasn’t a world-class pianist by any means, but for the purposes of this video series, did she have to be that good? And she was even better with the cello. If she got Roxie on the violin and one of the violas, they could manage quite a few trios—Mozart, Haydn, why not?
“Oh, Sarah,” Harper said, leaping from the piano bench, “what an idea!”
While she set up her recording equipment in the front room, Sarah went back to the computer. As she clicked her way through the classical section of Harper’s digital music library, Harper played and recorded the sonata three times. When she returned to the computer, she found Sarah had moved on to something else. She was looking at a tourist guide for Mendocino.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked.
“Just reading about Mendocino. I’m curious about it.”
Apparently Harper was not the only one with Chelsea on her mind.
“It’s north of here,” Harper said, “a little town on the coast with a prominent core of artists and bohemians. It’s a lovely place. At least I love it. It reminds me of the East Coast. In fact, it resembles New England enough that Murder She Wrote was filmed there.”
“Murder She Wrote? What’s that?”
Harper sighed, feeling old. “An old TV show set in the fictional town of Cabot Cove, Maine.”
“What’s Chelsea’s brother’s name?”
“I can’t remember. His last name is Nichols, though, same as hers. Why?”
Sarah was intent on her activities now. She was searching through a white pages database of Mendocino. After a few minutes, she said, “Is his name Brandon?”
“That’s it!” Harper exclaimed. “Yes, Brandon!” “So we’ve found her,” Sarah said, obviously excited. She printed a map of the address and handed it to Harper. “Here you go.”
Harper stood staring at the piece of paper as if it were the Rosetta Stone. After a moment, she asked, “Was there a phone number?”
“No.”
Harper felt flushed and uncertain, still staring at the address. “I don’t really know what to do with this.”
“Fly to her!” Sarah said, springing up from her chair. “Go to her like Orpheus and drag her back from the hounds of hell!”
Harper laughed, then Sarah did too. Harper found Sarah extremely entertaining, perhaps because she herself was only slightly removed from the same melodramatic bent.
“Orpheus?” she questioned.
“Of course, Orpheus. You remember the book you gave me, The Greek Myths? I read the whole thing, twice. There’s a picture of Orpheus at the gates of hell playing his lyre.”
“Yes, I remember that. He’s trying to charm Cerberus so he can pass through.”
“That reminded me of you because you’re the only person I know who has a lyre.”
“I’m glad you read that book, Sarah, and liked it. It was very special to me.”
“Well, yeah! Especially because your dad gave it to you and what he wrote in it.”
Harper, perplexed, said, “What? What did he write?”
“I’ve memorized it,” Sarah announced, then said, “To my own muse, Harper, who sings so sweetly under the wings of my imagination.”
As Sarah said those words, Harper could see them on the inside cover of the book. “Yes, of course, I remember it now,” she said.
“I’m surprised Grandpa gave that to you,” Sarah said,“instead of a book about quarks or something.”
“Well, to his credit, I guess he knew that mythology would be more to my liking.”
“I think you should have the book back now, though. I think you should keep it.”
“Yes, maybe you’re right, if you’re done with it.”
“You could use a couple of books in your house anyway.” Sarah sat backward on the desk chair, fa
cing Harper. “So, what are you going to do about Chelsea? Are you going?”
“She might not be alone,” Harper said, talking to herself as much as Sarah.
“She might not. But she might. It’s better to make a fool of yourself than to miss your chance at happiness.”
Harper looked sideways at Sarah, wondering if she had read that on some postcard or refrigerator magnet she’d found around the house because it sounded just like all of the advice that Harper had gathered around herself for the last twenty years—the iconic Fool with his reckless pursuit of self-knowledge, the free spirit, the blind prophet, the wandering minstrel and even Orpheus himself, all taking the leap of faith, following the heart, not the mind, into the unknown.
“But I can’t leave you here,” Harper said. “I mean, we have plans. We’re going to San Francisco and Monterey.”
“We can do that when you get back. We have almost a month. This is more important.”
“Is it?” Harper looked into Sarah’s suddenly serious eyes.
“Yes, Aunt Harper,” she said. “This is about love. What could be more important than that?”
To a sixteen-year-old, thought Harper, there was nothing more important than that. To a thirty-eight-year-old, to this thirty-eight-year-old anyway...well, yes, there were still not many things more important than that.
“I probably shouldn’t leave you alone,” Harper said doubtfully.
“I rode a train across the country by myself. I’m old enough to be trusted to be home alone. Even Mom and Dad have left me home alone for a few days. Besides, Mary said she would pick me up any time I wanted to come over for a visit. I really would like to go back and hang out with her. She’s really funny.”
“Funny? Well, I doubt that she intends to come off that way.”
“No, I think she does, actually.”
